


Christmas at Holmes Manor

by MutedSilence



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Christmas, Christmas Party, Depressed John, Developing Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Developing Relationship, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, John has been discharged, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Mentions of drugs, Mycroft is good with Children, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MutedSilence/pseuds/MutedSilence
Summary: Mummy is known for her Christmas parties at Holmes Manor. Sherlock hates the parties and tries to avoid them. This year he can't get out of it. He hates every second. But will he hate it after meeting an army captain?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Siger Holmes/Violet Holmes
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83
Collections: Mystrade Holiday 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The manor is based on a memory I have from when I was about 7 and visited a manor. I can't remember the name of it, but if you want a visual - it's an English country manor house.

It's the Holmesian annual Christmas party. The doors of Holmes manor are opened for all to enjoy. People flood from all over the country to attend. The attendees bring gifts of food and wine, which all fuel the expansive buffet. 

The manor was surrounded by perfectly manicured vegetation. Gardeners had worked tirelessly to get it all into shape. Even the greenery on the side of the house was in order. In front of the house, the stairs were polished within an inch of its life. The manor was decorated tastefully in traditional holiday decorations. A small gazebo had been erected on the grounds. It was for the children, decorated to resemble Lapland. A Father Christmas sat inside to hand out small gifts for the children. 

The festivities were held the weekend before Christmas. Every year without fail. Each year seeming to become more extravagant. It was a black tie event, but Mummy never fussed over what people wore. She was the host, and would treat everyone as her own child. She had that type of demeanor. Everyone loved Violet Holmes. She was a second mother to many. 

Everyone loved Mrs. Holmes parties. Well, everyone except her youngest son, Sherlock. He had managed to avoid the last two parties - much to Mummy's dismay. 

Sherlock had spent the last two Christmas' between his run down flat and the nearest opium den. Sherlock had tried to put that life behind him. It was working pretty well. He had a slip up every now and then, but secretly, he was proud of his progress. His work as a consultant for New Scotland Yard had helped him in that respect. With his new sobriety, came his brother's hounding. He couldn't get out of it this year. He was to attend the party of the year. How he loathed it. 

Mycroft had sent a car to pick up Sherlock - which he refused. Instead he took an expensive ride in a taxi and charged the fare to his brother. 

The manor was swarming with people. Reason one why Sherlock hates the damned event. Family members he hardly knew began to crowd him as soon as his foot left the cab. Reason two why he hated the party - family. Sherlock made his way past the people who gathered on the green.  _ It's cold. Who in their right mind gathers outside in England's December? _ His nose was pink and his fingers had all but frozen when he made his way inside. Looking for an empty room with a fireplace. Somewhere to warm himself. 

There was gentle Christmas music floating in the air around the chattering of excited party goers. Most of the rooms were filled, so Sherlock strode into the next room with a fireplace. 

A few children sat opening the gifts they had received from Father Christmas. They weren't much, but the kids loved them. All generic. Coloring and sweets. Teddies for the younger children, and books for the elder. Wide smiles plastering their faces. Already clad in festive pajamas. Sherlock stands next to the fire and looks into the flames. Trying to calculate how long he will need to stay before he can disappear. 

He stayed by the fire until his cousin walked into the same room. They had never got on. The Holmes manor had been passed down through generations. The eldest would inherit the manor. Violet had been gifted the manor by her father, leaving her younger brother bitter. Feeling that he was entitled to the manor. A thought process that had been passed to his children. Violet had offered to share the manor, many a time, but his uncle had always felt it like a charity case. Sherlock's uncle, Rudolf had grown bitter and so had his three children. Violet had always tried to be civil with Uncle Rudy, but he would reject any help. His children had grown into spoilt, over entitled adults. All estranged from the main family. The manor would be passed to Mycroft when the time came. Sherlock, personally, couldn't care less about the manor. Although, he did still have a room in case he ever changed his mind. 

Sherlock had found the main bar. He stood against the wall and sipped at a whiskey. Watching over the attendees. Mycroft came to stand beside him. Both watching on and sipping at their drinks. Neither spoke. They didn't need to. 


	2. Chapter 2

John had been closed away in his small bedsit since his involuntary discharge. His leg and shoulder bust. The pull of his Browning, growing with each passing day. He hardly ate. He hardly slept. He was just … there. John had been cast aside by the army. His life had been dedicated to his career and with one shot, everything he had worked for was torn away. 

John was reluctant to spend the upcoming festivities with his family. Harry and his father would send it drunk, while his mother would pretend nothing was wrong. He almost escaped it. Almost. He would have been spending the holidays in the hot desert getting shot at. A much preferable situation if he was honest. When he got shot, he thought that Christmas would be spent in a hospital bed. The Watson family have yet to be told of his discharge. Birmingham has the best facilities for wounded soldiers. His family would never travel  _ that  _ far.  _ Well, they wouldn't travel as far as next door. _

The Browning's pull had grown strong. It called for him. Whispering in his ear as he lay in the dark. He had woken in a sweat from a nightmare. His watch telling him it was only the early hours. Standing and crossing the room, John held his gun in his hand. Feeling the familiar weight. The tremor in his hand, gone. 

_ It would be so easy.  _

He slams the gun on the counter and throws on clothes from the day previous. Grabbing a jacket as he rushes from his bedsit. No direction in mind. Just away. He wandered the London streets until a cafe opened. He slipped inside to rest his leg and nurse a coffee. 

Just after nine, John leaves the cafe and carries on his walk. Traipsing through a park, he saw people bustling around. Some Christmas shopping, others rushing to meet deadlines. The repetitive clicking of his cane, filling his senses as he becomes dull to the hum around. He hears a shouting in the distance. "John."  _ Head down, keep going. Pretend you can't hear. They could be shouting for anyone. John is a very common name.  _ "John, John Watson!"  _ Damn. Can't ignore that. _ John turns towards the voice to see a man who seemed vaguely familiar. "Mike, Mike Stamford." John takes his hand in his, remembering the man from his days in med school. They walk to get a drink. 

Conversation with Mike flowed easily. Even with the large awkward pauses. He tells Mike about his discharge and his family. Mike remembers what they were like from med school. 

"So, who are you spending Christmas with?" John looked down at his coffee cup in his hand. They had sat on an empty bench in the park. It was freezing, but the coffee gave a sense of warmth to John. 

John puts on a fake smile and looks toward his friend. "No one. All on my own, unless I can bring it in myself to join the family." Mike looks at him. A glint in his eye as he takes in John. They both drink in silence for a few minutes before Mike breaks it. 

"I know someone. His folks hold a party. It's this weekend. I'll pick you up." John was taken aback. It wasn't a request and he knew. He gave a slight nod and handed his phone over so Mike could put his number in. He sent his address and Mike promised to pick him up at seven sharp. 

That's how John found himself in a manor -  _ of all things. _ He was wearing a cable knit jumper and jeans. Everyone around him was sporting a tux or an expensive dress. Apart from his uniform, this was the nicest outfit he owned. Even Mike had shown in a suit. John thought nothing of it, he hadn't seen Mike in a few years. Perhaps that was just what he wore. 

Mike had brought his wife along. She tried to make conversation, but John just looked out the window. Giving short answers. He knew he was being rude, but he just didn't feel like attending. 

They made their way to the bar. John decided to keep it steady.  _ May not have a lot going, but I will not become my father.  _ He settled on one drink, and moved to the side of the room when Mike and his wife began talking to others. 

John didn't want to be there. He didn't want to be at his bedsit. He did not want to be with his family. He just didn't belong anymore. 


	3. Chapter 3

Greg had met Sherlock less than a year ago. The young man had been showing up at his crime scenes. Always, high as a kite. He would stand at the side lines and direct the officers where to look. Telling them all how they were wrong and idiots. Lestrade had tried to talk to him. The man would always disappear before he got a chance and he never got his name. Greg found himself waiting for the man at the scenes. Looking around for a messy man in sweats. Greg knew he was high, but the kid was always - somehow - right. 

After a month of him showing up at random scenes, Greg found him. 

Greg had been at the scene and was looking out for the man. It was a good mystery, he was bound to show. After two hours with no unruly curls, Greg accepted that he wasn't going to show. The case had been a tough one. There had been an old lady found dead in a sauna. When examined, they discovered she had died of hyperthermia. 

It boggled his mind. He decided to go for a walk to clear his head. Think through how she could have died that way. 

There was a commotion in an alley and Greg braced himself. Winding himself for the incoming action. He turned into the alley to see a group of men huddled over a form on the floor. "Stop! Police!" The group scattered as Greg ran into the alley. They all split, running in different directions at the other end of the alley. Greg turned his attention to the form on the floor. The first thing that struck him, was the unruly curls. Greg crouched beside him and began searching for any ID. All he found was an empty syringe. The man in his arms was hardly breathing. He called an ambulance. 

He refused to leave his side. A man in a suit had met them in the man's room. Asking where Greg had found the man. After explaining the situation, the man had dismissed Greg. He looked over the new man and sat in a chair beside the bed. Prompting a raised eyebrow from the other man. Greg knew it was petty, but he was not leaving. 

"I am his brother. I assure you, he is safe." Greg gave a nod to the suit and pulled out his badge. He threw it to the brother. The badge was caught and the man's eyebrows pulled low over his eyes, looking down at the badge as if it could bite him. 

Greg gave him a smile. "I'm Greg. Greg Lestrade. Just became DI. This kid," He pointed towards Sherlock's unconscious form. "Has been helping with cases. I'm not leaving. He's smart. Genius. I want to help him, if he can help me." 

Mycroft had kept tabs on the detective inspector from that day, they had begun to grow close. As surprising as that was for the politician. Greg had proposed that Sherlock could help with cases if he was sober. Mycroft used this to convince his brother into a rehab program. 

Mycroft had learned about Greg's child almost immediately after their first meeting, but he never brought the child up. It wasn't until Mycroft had a case he wanted Greg to take and found the detective home with a sick child. He sent a gift to the sick Olivia as an apology for making her father work while she was ill. If you asked Greg, he would say he made a friend. If you asked Mycroft, well… he wouldn't know how to categorize it exactly. 

Olivia and Greg had been invited to the party by Mycroft. He even ensured Greg had the day off. Olivia was pulling her dad to Father Christmas in the make-shift Lapland. Greg's wife had left them for her daughter's PE teacher. It made parent's evening very awkward for Greg, but he got on. Raising his daughter on his own, while working a high pressure job. 

He stood in the doorway of the gazebo, watching on as Olivia sat on Santa's lap. A ridiculous smile across his face. She had a new dress. It was a beautiful baby blue, made of silk. The dress had been a gift from Mycroft. Lestrade would have never accepted the gift. Complained that it was too much, that they didn't deserve it, but Mycroft had handed the gift straight to the young girl. He couldn't take the excitement from her. He just vowed to pay back Mycroft anyway he could. 


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock remained on the sidelines. His razor sharp focus directed on anyone that passed too closely. His brother stayed by his side until his drink was drained. Parting to rejoin the party. Sherlock suspected he went in search of a certain detective. 

He slumped against the wall and watched as the children ran, full of joy and wonder. His glass was empty, but he didn't think he could face the crowd at the bar. One hand found its way into his Pocket as the other held his glass beside his leg. His fingers tapping along to a song in his mind. The sound of fingers on glass only for him in the busy room. His head falls against the wall behind and his eyes slide shut. A melody running from his head to his fingertips. The sounds around begin to dull. 

After a few steadying breaths, Sherlock opens his eyes to once again scan the room. It's still busy, full of boystorous children and drinking adults. Everyone looked so incredibly…  _ boring. _ Stood around in formal wear, sipping champagne. Talking about some drivel. It drove Sherlock crazy. He always felt out of place during these events. Always standing out from the crowd when he would rather disappear into it. 

Sherlock was about to give up and go find mummy, when he sees a man at the bar. His face is ordinary and blends into the crowd. He wears an oatmeal jumper, and yet, he still blends into the crowd. Sherlock lets his eyes wander over the man.  _ Military. No, ex. Cane - injured. Discharged from war. His stance indicates position of power. So, captain probably. Maybe just high ego, further analysis on that. Eyes lingering. On the clothes, not the people. Feeling insecure. Not his choice to be here. Nothing better? Here alone? No. Came in a group, but separated. He doesn't want to be here and he is alone. No one would voluntarily show up here if they didn't want to.  _ Sherlock was fascinated by the man. 

The unknown man was sipping at a beer. The only person in the room with a bottle. Still, no one noticed him. Sherlock stands straight and moves through to the man. He turns to the bartender and motions for another whiskey. A sudden need to fill his hands. 

Sherlock discreetly looks over the man.  _ Where was he stationed? That tanning pattern with the recent political events,  _ "Afghanistan or Iraq?" The man startles and looks towards Sherlock. His eyebrows drawn and mouth opening and closing, grasping for the sentences as they fly across his mind. He looks over Sherlock's form before blowing out a breath and looking down at himself. Shifting on his feet. Repositioning the cane in his hand. 

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know?" 

"It's getting crowded in here. I know my way around, we could go somewhere else." Sherlock takes the drink from the bartender and looks over the man again. Sherlock's eyebrow quirks as the corner of the man's lip raises. Sherlock holds out his hand and takes the man's in his, "Sherlock Holmes." 

The hand is strong and warm in his. "John. John Watson." His hand dropped, Sherlock winks towards John and sweeps from the room. John followed behind. Their drinks were left abandoned on the countertop. 

Sherlock led John through the manor, darting into rooms then rushing back out. John had a wonder filled grin across his face as he followed the madman around the manor. 

Sherlock opened a beautiful mahogany door. His head disappearing into the room before he turned to face John. A smile reaching across his lips. "Come on," He slid into the room. John looked down the hall before following through the door. "Not too empty for you is it?" They stood in the middle of a private office. Sherlock had leant against the oak desk. His arms crossed over his chest as he looked at John. The room was dark and secluded. The Christmas noises from behind the door, hardly penetrating into the room. John shook his head, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. 

"How did you know about the army?" Sherlock's smile got impossibly wider before his expression became more natural. 

Sherlock points towards John's hand. "Tan. Also your haircut and the way you hold yourself. It all says military. So, soldier obvious… Captain?" 

John nods along. His feet shift as he thinks over his posture. He looks down towards his wrist at the tan. When he looks up to Sherlock again, he notes the question at the end. Looking at Sherlock's inquisitive stare, "Yes, Captain. Also… a doctor." Sherlock seems to deflate slightly. Muttering to himself  _ "Stupid always something. Stupid." _ John takes another step forward. 

"Brilliant. Absolutely amazing. How you got my career from a single glance, truly amazing." Sherlock's mouth opened in shock as he looked over the doctor. 

His voice was impossibly small, "You think so?"

"Really. Completely brilliant." 

Sherlock smiles again towards the man. He steps closer. They're almost chest to chest in the limited space. 

"Dinner?"

"Starving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have no idea where this is going, so if you have any ideas... I'm all ears.


	5. Chapter 5

Olivia was running after some of the children. A game of tag had broken out, many of the children had gathered. Some even pull in parents and older siblings. Greg sat on the sidelines, rubbing his hands together to fight off the cold. He had been shivering like mad, but it was worth it to see his daughter's grin plastered across her face. He would take her home soon. Take her home and have a hot chocolate before bed.  _ For now, let her play.  _

A shadow loomed over Greg from above. He turned to look at what was blocking his limited light. Mycroft stood over him, looking over at the children, his eyes following Olivia as she dodged the other children. Greg smiles towards his friend and looks back over to his daughter. "I see you've already visited Father Christmas." Mycroft moved to sit beside Greg, nodding his head towards the gift on Greg's lap. 

"Yeah, yeah, the second we got out of the car," They sat together in silence for a moment. Greg turns to face Mycroft, who turns as well to fix his gaze on Greg. "Thank you. You know? For inviting us, and… uh, getting me the day off. I know it was you." 

Greg nods slightly and swallows around a lump in his throat. When the lump doesn't dissipate, he clears his throat and turns to look over at the children again. Mycroft keeps watching him. Fascinated by the man. "It's quite alright. I'm glad you came." Greg turns to look back at Mycroft. Shock flicking past his features. It only lasts a second. Invisible to anyone but Mycroft Holmes. They share a smile and turn back away from each other. 

Olivia is pink faced as she ran from a young boy. They are both running as fast their legs can carry them. The boy's hand reaches forward and hits the middle of Olivia's back. They both crash and fall over each other. The boy scrambles to his feet to run away, desperate to avoid a tag back. Greg jumps up when Olivia hits the deck. Ready to spring to action. Check his daughter is okay. Before he can take off sprinting, Olivia jumps up. Looking around at the nearby adults. Scanning the crowd until her gaze falls on her father. She throws him a blinding smile and waves before taking off again. Mycroft watches in interest at the tension leaving Greg's shoulders. 

Greg turns back around to see Mycroft stood. Almost as if he would chase after the children too. Mycroft stops looking over Greg. His eyes blinking as if he didn't realise he had sprung to his feet. They both chuckle nervously and look away from each other. 

Olivia runs past Greg and slaps Mycroft on the stomach, "You're it Uncle Mycie." She turns and runs. Both her and her father laugh at the look of surprise on the politician's face. Mycroft can hear Olivia's laughter fade as she runs away, the shouting of children and the giggles that follow. Mycroft is captured by the sounds of Greg's laugh. The sound filling his soul. Mycroft unbuttons the buttons on his blazer and waistcoat. 

In an act only seen by few, Mycroft rushes past Greg, tagging him in the process as he chases after Olivia. 

Greg's mind takes a few seconds to catch up and he finds himself chasing after his friend. He gently tags a child as he passes, "You're it!" Before finally catching up to his daughter and Mycroft. Greg's career has helped keep him in shape and Mycroft exercises privately, but they were still panting slightly with the short sprint. Olivia's giggles have increased. She scans the area for who is tagged. Mycroft and Greg look at each other. 

A small amused screech pulls them back to the present. Olivia runs and the men follow behind. Letting the small girl take the lead as they run across the green. They all continue to play for a while. Staying a group as the two adults haven't the foggiest who is tagged. Their faces were all pink. They stood at the sidelines, out of breath and sweaty. "Oxfords are not for running." Mycroft looks down at his shoes. The once perfectly polished shoes, now with mud and grass over them. Moisture holding the dirt to the surface. The cuffs of his suit trousers on their way to the same fate. He looks at them with disgust. A smile breaks through when he hears the laughter from the father, daughter duo. 

Greg claps his hands to collect himself and get the others attention. "Right! I think we should get home. How about hot chocolate before bed?" Olivia readily agrees and rushes off to find her gift where it was left. Greg looks over at Mycroft. His face had fallen slightly at the announcement of their departure. "Mycroft?" Their eyes lock and Olivia joins them, taking Greg's hand in hers, her other hand grasping the neatly wrapped gift. "Care to join us? I make a mean hot chocolate, and we have marshmallows." 

A smile spreads across the face of all three. "I would love to." Together they all begin to walk to Greg's car. Olivia excited chatter filling the air as they climbed in. 


	6. Chapter 6

Violet had been with her husband talking to various party goers most of the night. She turned to Siger during a dip in the conversations around, "Where are the boys?" Her voice is low in the room, only a question for her husband. His face screws slightly and he looks around the room where they are standing, almost as if they would magically appear. 

Violet's arm wrapped through her husband's and she tugged slightly. Directing Siger's attention. "Come on, let's find our boys. Mycroft promised they would both be in attendance." Together they leave the room in hunt of their children. Mummy Holmes had been looking forward to seeing both her sons in the same place. She had made sure to get Mycroft's assurance on the matter. Sherlock had not shown in a few years and frankly, she missed him. 

They walked through rooms in search of the two brothers. Arm in arm, they stepped into a relatively busy room. The room had one of the largest bars in the manor. No wonder it was so crowded. Siger looked down at the bar. There was an untouched whisky and beer sitting idly on the side. "Ah, Mr Holmes, that was your son's. He just took off with a gentleman." Siger looks towards the bartender and thanks him. Taking a sip of Sherlock's abandoned drink. He hums appreciatively and nods towards the bartender. Beside Violet huffs and pulls him out of the room. 

Sider had a talent of striking a conversation with anyone. He could talk for Britain. Then, other times, you couldn't get a word out of the man. He was much like his youngest in that regard. Although, where Sherlock tends to repel people; Siger engages them and makes friends easily. 

Mummy  _ did not _ have time for that. 

As they step out of the room, Violet spots an immaculately dressed man out the corner of her eye. The man had disappeared outside before her head had turned, but she knew it was her eldest. He always walked with an aura she could sense from anywhere. She tugged her husband to the greenery outside. Both scanning the grounds to look for the boys. Violet spots her son in the distance, walking towards a group of playing children. As they walk slowly across the green, they watch Mycroft sit next to a man. Both of them watching the playing children. 

Both of the men jumped up in a panic and Violet stopped moving. The parents watch on in slight confusion. Mummy's chest fills with warmth as a small child runs into her son's stomach. She quietly laughs with her husband, almost mimicking the man across from her son. They both abruptly stop when Mycroft darts past the laughing man. They both smile fondly towards the men and child. 

Siger pulls at his wife's arm. "Come on, love. Leave them be." 

They walk back into the warm to look for their other son. At the end of a hall, Siger's office door rips open. Before Siger can shout at whomever was in his private office, a blond haired man steps out pulling a curly haired man by the hand. The parents stop and watch in wonder and slight confusion.  _ Who is this man?  _

Sherlock stops and the man turns to look at him. Sherlock smiles and pulls him close. One hand still intertwined with the man's, his other wandering to the man's cheek. The blond man looks up into Sherlock's eyes. A similar smile plastered on his own face. Sherlock takes a step back, pulling the man back into the room. The door closing behind. 

Violet surges forward, leaving Siger in the dust perplexed. He soon follows. Violet pushes open the door to the office forcefully. Her son was sitting on the edge of the desk, the blond man between his legs. They had been kissing, but pulled apart when the door opened. Clearly not expecting an audience. 

Sherlock's face drops when he sees his parents enter the small room. 

"Mummy!" The blond turns to face the newcomers. Bewilderment slapped across his face. 

Violet smiles towards the men. Her hands landing on her hips as she shakes her head. "Sherlock! You are not doing that in your father's office," His face, as well as the blonds, begins to colour. "You have a perfectly fine bedroom, if you warned me, I would have had the sheets changed!" 

Sherlock's face coloured even further, his mouth dropping. The blond took a step towards Violet and Siger. His hand extended to accept theirs. "Hi. John Watson. Sorry about this. Pleasure to meet you. I assure you, we didn't count on someone showing up and it wouldn't have gone  _ that _ far." He lets out a small chuckle and Sherlock groans behind him. 

Violet gives him a pat on the arm and takes hold of Siger's arm. "Well then. We'll leave you to it. Not in here Sherlock, with a party outside. I hope to see you for Christmas dinner, John." With that, they left the room. Closing the door behind. She could hear the men giggling from the other side of the door. Siger pulled her away to talk to some more people. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the last chapter! Hope you like it, let me know what you think!  
> I have a Tumblr where I post about my fics if you like, MutedSilence.


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